She Just Knew That Even When You

I Mean, When The World Comes For Your Children, With The Knives Out, It's Your Job To Stand In The Way.

We'll Have Freedom, Love And Health/when The Grand Red Flag Is Flying, In The Workers' Commonwealth.

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.

She'd Thought Love Had Something To Do With Happiness, But It Turned Out They Were Not Even Vaguely Related. Love Was Closer To A Need, No Different From The Need To Eat, To Breathe.

Pick A Sin We Can Both Live With, Is What I Ask.